Overcome
by ImaginedElegance
Summary: Soda's a good kid. Really. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the midst of legal trouble and his own self-destruction, Soda is confronted by forbidden love. He must make a choice: overcome or be overcome. (Dally and Johnny are alive by request.)
1. Chapter 1

**AN - The length (60 chapters) and pairing (Soda x Cherry) for this story were requested by Iconic Star Child. So I hope you all enjoy reading my take on these characters and the general plot. If you do, I'd really love it if you'd review, follow, and favorite the story. Thanks! :D Also, special thanks to ForeverMandi for reading over parts of this for me. I honestly don't know how I'd get any of my stories done without her.**

It'd been a little while since the whole Windrixville situation and things were finally starting to calm down. Johnny had healed decently, minimal scarring but still irreparably paralyzed from the waist down. Dally was... Well, he was just the same except for a bruised ego. Didn't like being called an "asset to society" in the newspapers. Not one bit. Soda had laughed at him for that until the hood's eyes turned dangerous. The joke ended real quick after that cause even Two-Bit knew better than to push Dally too far.

The June of 1966 came rolling in like any other summer month. Hot and carrying the promise of thunderstorms. Sandy used to love the lightning, how crackles of pure energy could brighten a night-dark sky. When the clouds turned ashen and the heavens rumbled with a vengeance, Soda would stand in the backyard and wait for the first strikes. It made him feel close to her again. As if she could see the same storm from her new home.

He knew that was impossible, but he'd always been a dreamer. All too easily, he slipped into the same fantasies of his lost love - seemingly at random. The daytime adventures in parks, pretending they could go anywhere they pleased. And the nights, so heated. Intense. But that's what had gotten him in trouble in the first place.

Sometimes, he just couldn't help himself, though. He'd wander around the city, lost despite having lived there for all his years. It was on one of those nights that he was caught up in his weakness, taken advantage of.

East-Side Tulsa was never peaceful, but especially not after school let out. Something about summer air seemed to drive people insane. The worst crimes were committed beneath hazy moonlight - Soda had known that for some time. Call it personal experience. Well, Dally's personal experience, anyway. He once said that the season made him restless, more daring. And Soda never forgot that.

But he stll went out that night. Didn't tell Pony where he was headed and sure as hell didn't let Darry know. He'd needed to leave, needed fresh air, cause the thoughts of Sandy invaded his mind yet again. This time, though, he was sick of fighting them, didn't even think he had the strength to do so. He just walked out and kept going.

 _She closed the door behind her, pressing a finger to her lily-pink lips. His cheeks blushed furiously as she drew closer and he almost wanted to tell her to stop. Darry was home. If he heard, Soda would be in more trouble than he'd ever been in before, but he truly lacked self-control. He remained silent._

 _He let her push him down on to the bed, straddle his hips. Then their mouths met in a gentle kiss - a shock considering the position they were in. They stayed a while, sweetly passionate. But she shifted her body, brushing against him, igniting the flames. He wasn't sure if the movement was intentional. He didn't care. The kiss turned scorching, hotter than the bolts that streaked across a breathless sky._

 _Their lips separated reluctantly, but Soda quickly occupied his mouth with a new task. He started pressing kisses down the side of his girlfriend's neck, soft and loving. No need to rush through it. Just enjoy, forget Darry. Forget everything that didn't relate to Sandy._

 _"Soda, that tickles." She giggled lightly, curling her fingers into his auburn hair. "C'mon, cut it out."_

 _But he kept on kissing her skin, eventually moved lower, progressing to delicate nips with his teeth. When he sucked on her collarbone, she exhaled appreciatively. He murmured against her and she gave a blissful sigh, her body pushing against him a little more. As if she thought she could simply melt and sink into his chest._

 _She leaned back on his legs, causing an inferno of friction between them. Soda moaned._

He hadn't expected the fall. Something caught his foot and, next thing he knew, he was on the ground. His hands slammed onto the sidewalk, skin splitting. He could almost visualize Darry's worried curiosity as his older brother demanded to know why he was bleeding. Biting back a curse, he glanced over his shoulder, seeking the thing that had tripped him.

A body.

 _It's just a hobo_ , Soda thought, crawling closer to the bundle of clothes and flesh. _Just sleeping... A heavy sleeper. Not dead... Definitely not. That'd be crazy._ He couldn't stop himself, though. He knelt beside the man - well, a boy, really. A boy with a small body and dirty hair. No more than twelve years old.

The kid lay on his stomach, face down in the dirt. Soda put his hand on the child's shoulder then pushed, rolling the boy onto his back. Later on, Soda would wonder why he noticed the stillness of the chest first. He supposed it meant more. To know that there was no breath, no life to be saved. It didn't matter how he'd died. But it was glaringly obvious - the how, the little script that would fill in the 'cause of death' blank. A gunshot wound. In the very center of his forehead.

Soda stared into the boy's wide eyes, recognizing the fear frozen there, unconsciously wiping the blood off of the child's face. The corpse was warm. The blood still trickled out. He imagined how scared the boy must've been, just laying alone at the side of the road as he faded and feeling the hot liquid-life flee from him.

He wondered why the boy was out so late. He wondered where the victim had been going or what he'd hoped to do with his future. He wondered why life was cruel to helpless children. Children like this dead boy and kids like Pony too.

In the distance, police sirens wailed. Soda's gaze snapped away from the corpse then briefly rested on the only lighted window of a building in front of him. A shadow of a man watched him from the comforts of a living room.

Soda ran.


	2. Chapter 2

**Reviews:**

 **Iconic Star Child - glad you think so! the murder of this child is going to be the main focus of this story (aside from Soda and Cherry's relationship)**

 **Amanda - you're welcome! :D**

 **Guest 1 - thanks! Sorry that I kept you waiting for so long**

 **Guest 2 - good, good! I'm happy that I was able to spark your interest**

 **DarlingPhantom730 - aw, thank you!**

 _ **AN - I'm so sorry to have made you all wait so long for an update! Please enjoy this chapter, give it a review, and I'll try to be better with my writing schedule. Thanks for reading!**_

Soda came back to a house buzzing with activity. Despite the hour of night, his brothers were still awake. He knew he was in huge trouble, even before he stepped into the living room. The instant he was inside, Pony hugged him tightly, mumbling something about how worried everyone had been. Soda opened his mouth to apologize, but the words died on his lips when he saw Darry.

He stood by the kitchen table, arms folded sternly over his chest. It was a scowl on his face at first and Soda couldn't keep himself from cringing. But then the anger morphed into relief. Soda still didn't relax, though. His older brother was infamously difficult to read. No one could ever accurately predict how he was feeling or what he was going to do next.

In this instance, he decided to follow the peaceful trail. Sure, he was angry, but he apparently wanted to talk things out. Soda heaved a sigh of relief, grateful for the chance to explain his actions. But Darry beat him to the first words.

"What happened to your hands?" he asked.

Pony pulled back from the hug and grabbed one of Soda's wrists. For a moment, no one spoke as the youngest Curtis examined the scraped up flesh on his brother's palm. The tension seemed to increase - at least, that was how Soda perceived it - so he yanked his wrist out of Pony's grasp in a feeble attempt to end the worrying.

"I'm fine, Dare," he said, giving both of his brothers an apologetic smile. "I just tripped on the sidewalk and landed on my hands. But can we talk about this some more tomorrow? I'm real tired..."

"Yeah, okay." Even though he agreed, Darry went back to frowning. "Well, good night then... You too, Pony. And no readin' this time, ya hear?"

His youngest brother nodded and trotted off to bed. Leaving Soda alone with him. Unconsciously, he strode into the living room, placed his hand on the middle child's shoulder. He looked the teen up and down a couple times, eyes scrutinizing every detail. Every bit of the young man, just to know he really was alright. Finally, he stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest again.

"Sure you're okay, Sodapop?" he said, letting his concerned gaze hover over his brother's noticeably paler face. "Ya look like you've seen a ghost."

 _Not exactly..._ Soda thought. "I just need some sleep." He flashed one of his winning smiles, hoping the expression would reassure Darry. Whether it worked or not...well he didn't stick around to find out. He just marched himself off to bed, but couldn't sleep.

xxxxxx

The next morning, Soda discovered that he'd actually managed to fall asleep. He felt groggy and poorly rested, like he'd tossed and turned all night. If that was the case, it was a wonder that Pony had slept so well. But his little brother truly did appear undisturbed. Gently, he ran his fingers through the boy's hair then slipped off of the mattress.

He wished he could've just stayed under the blankets with Pony forever. It was an impossible dream, though, cause he knew he needed to tell Darry about what had happened and then there was his shift at the DX to take care of and not to mention he'd promised Steve that they would hang out later. Too busy today. Maybe tomorrow...

Sluggishly, he made his way into the kitchen. Darry was already waiting for him at the table, the morning paper laid out in front of him. He looked up at Soda and frowned.

"A boy died last night," he said, gesturing to the picture on the front page. "Cops found him shot in the street."

Soda swallowed hard. "That's a shame..."

His older brother nodded slowly, thoughtfully. The pair sat in silence for a while, feeling as though they were strangers rather than relatives. Soda tried to eat some cereal, but he had to give up after a few bites. Nausea pooled in his stomach and the last thing he needed was to vomit before work.

Finally, Darry spoke up, his voice sounding strained. "Last night was about Sandy, wasn't it?" He waited for a response, though knew that there wouldn't be one. So he continued. "I told ya to keep your head on your shoulders. Dammit Soda! You'll get yourself killed if ya keep wanderin' around without thinkin' 'bout your surroundings."

Just the word 'killed' made Soda's stomach turn. It brought back the images of the night before, the ones he'd tried to forget. A little boy and an oozing bullet hole in his forehead. He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair.

"I-I have to get ready for work," he stuttered as he bolted into the bathroom.

The moment the door closed behind him, he fell to his knees. He crawled over to the toilet, opened the lid, then crouched there. The crying came first. He tried to hold it back, but the more he resisted, the more nauseous and out of breath he felt. His lungs seized up, wrenching his stomach, twisting it until the contents of it had nowhere else to go. And he puked. He hugged the sides of the toilet with his shaking arms, vomiting up everything that hadn't already been digested.

He slumped forward, cried harder, choked on the ragged breaths that rose from his burning throat. Even as he tried to calm down, he knew it was too late. Darry's footsteps drew close to the bathroom door. The urgent knocking came moments before he was ready to answer, but he forced himself to reply when he heard his older brother's worried voice.

"Soda? I'm comin' in, okay?"

"N-no... it's fine... I'm...I'm all good..." The response was too feeble to help his cause. If anything, it made Darry more concerned.

The door opened slowly, its hinges creaking as if it was in pain. Soda would've chuckled at that if he wasn't feeling so miserable. A slab of wood experiencing an injury. Ha. He almost wished he could switch places with the thing. Anything was better than being sick like this...

Darry stepped into the small room, gaze quickly taking stock of the situation. With a bit of a sigh, he reached over his younger brother's body and flushed the toilet. His hand gently stroked the boy's sweat-slicked locks then he moved to grab a towel. He wet the rough fabric with cool water from the sink, returned to Soda's side.

"Hey, buddy, ya coulda said you weren't feelin' good," Darry mumbled, kneeling next to his sick brother. He wiped Soda's face with the towel, cleaning up any traces of vomit from his chin. "I'll call the DX, tell 'em you can't go in. So don't you worry 'bout that."

"But... Okay..."

"You just take it easy," he continued as he finished cleaning. He took hold of Soda's arm, pulled him to his feet, and guided him back to the room he shared with Pony. "Lay down. Do ya need anythin'? I could run out for some medicine before I gotta go to work."

Soda curled up on the bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "No, don't bother. I'll be alright soon. I hope..."

His older brother frowned - an expression he made far too often these days. He wanted to hit himself for making everybody worry, for being a burden. Darry had enough to deal with already. The last thing the poor guy needed was a sick kid to fuss over. So Soda told him to quit acting like a mama bear and assured him that everything would be okay.

Darry patted him on the head, muttered something that his exhausted mind couldn't comprehend, then left him alone. He heard the door close and fell asleep.

xxxxxx

The first thought that entered his mind was an annoyed one. _Ponyboy, answer the frickin' door already, would ya?_ The knocking persisted and Soda's eyes snapped open, unable to ignore the sound any longer. He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

It took him much longer than usual to stumble over to the front door. He rested once in the hallway, leaning up on the wall until that faint feeling of vertigo passed. Finally, he reached the door, grabbed the knob, yanked it open. His breath caught when he saw the girl standing on the front step. Blondish red hair that he knew felt silky soft. Smiling pink lips that he would've kissed all day if she'd allowed it. Tender eyes that he had spent countless hours gazing into.

Sandy... God, it was really her. Except, it wasn't... The hair was too red, the eyes too green. And this girl's smile seemed all wrong, now that he really examined it. Her face more rounded rather than angular, too. It wasn't Sandy. His heart sank into his empty stomach as he came to that realization. He wondered if his fantasies would ever come true, if his only love would return to him one day.

"Hi, umm... I'm Cherry," the girl said, her hands clasped in front of her nervously. "Is Ponyboy home?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Reviews:**

 **Iconic Star Child - Yeah, it's just coming along horrendously slowly, so I apologize for that. :(**

 _ **AN - Hey guys, I'd just like to say sorry for such a long wait. I haven't been overly busy, but sometimes it's really hard for me to find inspiration or even motivation of any kind. Any comments or suggestions you may have would be immensely helpful to moving this story forward, so please don't be afraid to speak up and leave me a review or send a PM. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter!**_

Soda stared at the red-headed girl for what he considered to be an uncomfortably long time. It wasn't like he was checking her out or nothing, she just caught him off guard. An unpleasant feeling, definitely, though he felt he shouldn't blame her for wanting to visit...a friend? Maybe? Being sick as he was, he couldn't recall what Pony had said about her.

"Um... I'm Pony's brother, Sodapop," he said at last, taking Cherry's hand and shaking it. She frowned at him slightly in response which got his mind racing. _Oh crap, she didn't like that. What did I do? What do I do now? Glory, I must look awful foolish... Why am I still holding her hand? Let it go, dammit!_

He quickly dropped her hand, feeling a bit of a spike in his adrenaline levels. That observation unnerved him further. Talking to girls had always come naturally to him. But now he couldn barely look her straight in the eye - her hypnotic emerald eyes. The thought gave him pause as he tried to figure out what was wrong with him. It must've been the sickness that made him so...unlike himself. Why else would he be acting so strangely?

"Good to meet you, Sodapop," she replied, somewhat reluctantly. Her gaze swept over his body a few times, heavy to the point of almost having a physical presence, and he immediately felt himself heating up at the idea of her touching him. "So where's Pony?"

The temperature rose to unbearable degrees, but Cherry seemed fine, as if she hadn't noticed. Soda thought he was losing his mind, though. He tried to calm down, tell himself that nothing weird was going on. After all, he thought, didn't it make sense? He'd already connected her with Sandy - the girl he'd been lusting after ever since she'd been forced to leave Tulsa. He reasoned that it was natural for him to be feeling a little hot at the sight of her. Cause she really was just like Sandy.

In a way that wasn't at all similar to his ex-girlfriend. In a way that tried to fool him into believing that he actually desired Cherry. Cherry Valance - soc and, presumably, Pony's girl.

"He's...uh...in his room," Soda managed to mumble, stepping out of the doorway to allow the red haired soc into his embarrassingly beaten down home. Briefly, he wondered what she thought of the place, what she thought of him now that they were reunited. But she wasn't Sandy and it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to remember that. "Down that hallway there. Second door on the left."

"Thank you." She followed his directions, leaving him standing dumbly by the now closed door.

 _Is it really that easy to just walk away from me?_ He wasn't thinking these things at any one event in his life. No, his thoughts were directed at pretty much everything that had ever happened to him. His horse, his parents, Pony running off, Sandy. Now this girl that he had no right to care about. Sometimes he felt like he repelled people. Like, as he put all his soul into finding friends, others put equal effort into avoiding him.

He sat himself down on the couch, face buried in his hands. Nausea returned and churned in his stomach until he was certain that he was going to puke again. But he didn't care. He'd vomit all over the floor if he had to. Nothing would make him move from his spot. Ever.

Time passed, though he couldn't say exactly how long he'd been seated there in self-pity. Long enough seemed to be an accurate description - as accurate as he needed, anyway. The moment he got up from the couch, he felt a sharp breeze against his face, caught the sweet scent of floral perfume. Cherry ran passed him, shrieked at the top of her lungs.

"You're horrible, Ponyboy Curtis! Just horrible!"

Soda stood in place for a moment, dumbstruck once more. Finally, he regained his senses and made his way into the room he shared with his younger brother. He leaned against the doorway, still feeling a little dizzy from his mysterious illness.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Nothin' really," Pony said, pouting slightly. "She said somethin' kinda off about Johnny, ya know? Hurt me too much, I guess. So I told her that Bob was a no good piece of white trash and that I'm glad he ain't around to screw people up no more."

"That ain't right, Pone," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "She's hurtin' just as much as the rest of us. It... It's hard, losin' someone you love..."

Pony's eyes went wide as he realized what his brother was talking about. He stumbled over about thirty different apologies before Soda held up a hand to stop his rambling.

"It's okay," he assured, patting Pony on the shoulder. "We're all upset for our own reasons. Life is damn hard on everybody." He paused, glanced around the room which was piled high with junk of all sorts. "I'll go talk to her. Sit tight, okay?"

Without waiting for approval, he withdrew from the doorway and strolled out of the house. Cherry hadn't gone very far. She'd made it to the cracked and gum-coated sidewalk at the end of the drive then had fallen down to her knees. Silent yet completely uncontrolled sobs tore through her body, rattling her lungs and stealing away her breath.

Soda approached slowly, cautiously, hoping not to startle her and make things worse. Seemed to have a knack for further ruining things. Well, that's what he'd been feeling like lately. But this wasn't about him. It was about a crying, lonely girl who was in the process of losing just as much as he had. Maybe not her parents or her money, but definitely her friends and loved ones. He knew he needed to help her.

For the smallest, most insignificant second, she turned to look at him as he stood almost directly behind her. The mascara was smeared underneath her eyes and on the back of her hand. She looked away from him quickly, hiding her ruined makeup.

"Hey..." Soda said as he crouched down beside her. "So, listen... I get why you're mad at Pony. Ya lost someone you care about. I've been there - heck, I'm still there! And it ain't any fun, but we gotta do our best to be happy again, ya know? Can we wipe away those tears of yours? That'll be a good place to start."

Cherry gradually made herself look at him as he talked to her. By the end, she wasn't crying anymore. Cause he was right. She didn't like crying. She didn't like being sad. All she wanted was to recover - get over Bob and start dating again. Maybe...

"Thanks..." she mumbled.

Soda stood up then held out a hand to her. She took it with only a hint of the hesitance from before and he helped her to her feet.

"That's better, ain't it?" he said, gently leading her back toward the house. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit. Then I'll drive ya home, alright?"

"But, what about...?" She trailed off, just let him drag her inside. It wasn't until they'd entered the bathroom that she found her voice again. But the words she spoke were not the ones either of them were expecting. "Yeah. I'd really appreciate it if you'd drive me."

There was silence after that, the only reaction from Soda being the big grin that spread across his face. He left the bathroom quickly so that Cherry could have some privacy as she washed up. It took a few minutes - a long time for someone who was doing nothing but waiting - but when she finally came out, he was floored.

The soc girl wore no makeup at all. And the look was absolutely stunning - her pale face glowing and her eyes fully visible, no longer obscured by intensely long black lashes. If she'd been a greaser, he was pretty sure he would've had trouble keeping himself from whistling at her. He almost did it right then until he remembered who she was. So he forced himself to settle for silent appreciation.

He coughed a bit. "Let's...uh... Let's get you home."


	4. Chapter 4

The beat-up truck came to a stop on the side of the road, just in front of Cherry's house. Soda jumped out, made his way around to the passenger side, then opened the car door for the soc girl. She raised an eyebrow at him, though she made no move to reject his kindness. Perhaps she was just surprised that a greaser could have manners.

He walked her up to the door. Even though she tried to tell him not to. Figured there wasn't really a risk, though, so he ignored her feeble protests. They had barely reached the front door when he decided that it was time to speak up.

"I...uh...I'm sorry bout Pony," he said, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. "Sometimes he just don't use his head and then he winds up hurtin' somebody's feelin's."

She gave him a faint smile in return - one that she didn't let grow too big cause she was afraid that another one of her types might see her. He wanted to tell her that none of it mattered, that she didn't have to worry. But that would've been a lie. Cause he didn't know what would happen, in the end. Maybe one of them soc boys would drive up, make a scene. Maybe he would shoot the little wretch that he thought was trying to move in on his woman.

If there was one thing Soda had learned, though, in all his years of living on the wrong side of the tracks, it was that you couldn't be always jumping at the sight of your own shadow. Life wasn't worth living if you lived it in fear. He promised himself that he wouldn't ever let that happen to him.

Cause life was so damn short. That kid he'd found the night before... Well, he hoped the boy hadn't wasted even a second of it. He pushed his thoughts away from the murdered child, before his stomach could turn inside out, and focused on Cherry instead.

"Well... Guess I'd better get goin'," he said, unable to prevent himself from glancing over his shoulder. "I know you don't want nobody seein' me here."

"That's not..." She tried to protest, but seemed to recognize the pointlessness of it. They both knew that Soda was right. Her emerald gaze dropped to the wooden planks of her front porch, shame flooding into her cheeks. "I'm sorry... Thanks for the ride..." Without looking at him again, she retreated into her house, closed the door, and was gone from the greaser's sight.

xxxxxx

"Hello. I'm looking for a Sodapop Curtis? Somebody told me I could find him here. Is that true?"

Ponyboy frowned as he inspected the man standing on his doorstep. The stranger wore simple clothes - an off-white dress shirt tucked into old blue jeans. Suspicious, Pony folded his arms over his chest. "Who's askin'?" he replied. No way was he gonna let some random guy look around for Soda - not without a fight, anyway.

The man laughed a bit then searched through his pockets. Before too long, he'd pulled out a shiny badge and a pack of cigarettes. He lit one up, popped it in his mouth, then shoved the pack into another one of his pockets. "Sorry, kid. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Detective Keane." He blew smoke into Pony's face. "Now, are you gonna let me in? I just have to ask Sodapop a few questions."

"He ain't home." The greaser boy tried to close the door, but the officer slammed it open again. He sighed softly, knowing he had to give in. Didn't want to get in trouble with the law for something stupid when the threat of being sent to a boy's home was constantly hanging over his head. "But... I guess he'll be back soon. Come in..."

With a slight smirk of satisfaction, the detective strolled into the house and settled himself in Darry's armchair. Damn bastard acted like he owned the place. Pony masked his scowl, joined Keane in the living room.

Despite the utter resentment this cop inspired within him, he couldn't help but feel worried. Sure, guys like him enjoyed coming round to these kinds of places just to taunt greasers with the power their jobs gave them. But this time seemed different. Almost as if Keane had a decent reason for showing up - especially since he was willing to wait.

 _Oh, Soda... What've you done now?_ Pony wondered.

 _ **AN - To anyone who's still reading this: I'm sorry for such a short chapter and such a long wait for a poorly written update. I've been struggling with finding the will to write recently. It's gotten to be so bad that I'm considering abandoning this story altogether. At the very least, I'm probably going to dramatically shorten it. I don't think I am capable of writing a 60 chapter fic, especially when there are very few reviews to motivate me. I still like the story I want to tell here (the same cannot be said for some of my other fics, unfortunately). But with no inspiration and no motivation, I'm finding it extremely difficult to continue. If you want to see more updates, please tell me so! Otherwise, they might just stop entirely...**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Reviews:**

 **Iconic Star Child - I'm glad to hear from you again. It's a bad sign when the person who requested the story stops reviewing, haha.**

 **Emolichic1 - Coincidentally, I had decided I was going to start writing this chapter right before I saw your review.**

When Soda parked the truck in his gravel driveway, he knew something was wrong. Sure, he would've liked to say that the revelation came from his intuitive nature and critical eye, but that wasn't the truth of it. The real cause of his concern was the unfamiliar car that sat in front of the house. It was a plain white 1957 Chevy Bel Air and he felt his heart begin to pound hard in his chest. That was the exact model the police station used.

But he shook his head, attempted to calm himself. If this was a cop at his house, the car would've been appropriately marked. He forced the tension out of his shoulders then took a few deep breaths. A small part of him was still on edge, though, no matter how hard he tried to relax. It was hardly unreasonable, he reasoned, since there was still the risk of a stranger in the house with Ponyboy. That thought seemed to propel him to the door and, within the space of a few breaths, he was standing in the messy living room.

His eyes sought Pony first then, after thoroughly assessing his safety, moved on to the man sitting in Darry's armchair. He appeared to be just an average Joe, nothing special at all. Except for the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, of course. Soda felt a rush of dread turn his blood to icy slush. Darry hated it when people smoked inside and such an offense would not be easy to hide from him.

"Excuse me, sir, can you finish your smoke outside?" he asked, treading carefully due to the unfamiliarity of the situation. "My older brother don't allow lit cigarettes in the house."

"You're Sodapop Curtis?" the man replied, disregarding the greaser's words and posing his own question.

He glanced at Pony once more, found no answers in his younger brother's expression, then turned his full attention back to the stranger. Unconsciously, he ran his hands through his hair - once, twice, three times. Sometimes, he wished it wasn't so easy to read his emotions, that his actions didn't openly broadcast whatever he happened to be feeling at any given moment. But he figured he couldn't really do anything about his natural responses, anyway.

"Are you deaf, boy?" the guy demanded as he stood up abruptly. "I asked if you're Sodapop Curtis."

"Uh... Yes, sir. I am," he said. "Who are you?"

"Detective Keane. I work for the police department downtown. There are a couple questions you need to answer. Please, take a seat." His words were not kind, not even vaguely warm or caring, and after he spoke them, he took another drag of his cigarette. The smoke escaped the confines of the man's mouth and tainted the air around him. Soda flinched.

He turned back to his brother, told the kid to make himself scarce before sitting down on the couch and focusing fully on the detective. Keane took his time with finishing the cigarette and, when he was done, he tossed the butt of it down onto the wooden floor. Stomped it out with his boot after waiting long enough for the thing to leave a burn scar in the place where it had fallen. All Soda could think about was how pissed Darry was gonna be once he noticed the damage...

"Excellent. Let's begin." He paused a moment, for dramatic effect then pulled a crumpled up picture from one of his jeans pockets. It showed off a nice little street just a few blocks away from the house, a place he'd been many times before. "Can you tell me what this place is?"

"It's that road a little ways from here. Swings 'round the park," he replied, heart racing. Not only was it the street near the park, it was also the place where he'd found the boy's body.

The detective nodded, eyes thoughtful. Then he tucked the photo back into his pocket and sat down in the chair directly across from Soda. He steepled his fingers, leaned forward. His expression was dark as he studied the greaser in front of him, though he didn't speak for a long time. When he finally did, he settled fully into his seat, being sure to appear perfectly comfortable despite the worn through cushions.

"So, tell me... Where were you last night?"

Soda hesitated. Did this guy think he'd killed that kid? Should he lie and say he was nowhere near the scene? Or did the detective already know that he'd been there? That would definitely incriminate himself... He swallowed hard, preparing to answer.

"I took a walk," he said, mind still spinning through his options and making haphazard plans to save his reputation. No, not _his_ reputation. Darry's. An arrest for a crime that severe would certainly not help his older brother maintain custody over Ponyboy.

Keane raised an eyebrow, suspicious. But he didn't comment. He allowed the expression to relax and smiled instead, taking in his surroundings as if for the first time. Then he focused on the kitchen, though Soda wasn't exactly sure what he was looking at. The man turned back to the greaser, reached for another smoke. He lit up in spite of his suspect's weak protests and grinned wider as the burning scent reached his nose.

"Where did you go?" he asked after an uncomfortably long silence. By then, his cigarette was nearly halfway finished. "Is there anyone who can verify that you're telling the truth?"

"No. I was alone..." Soda mumbled, looking down at the floor.

"I see."

Soda felt his heart sink and nausea begin to stir in his stomach. The last thing he needed right now was some cop snooping around, trying to force a confession out of him. He knew he hadn't done anything, but, of course, Keane had no idea. And it made sense that they would consider him a suspect. After all, he'd stumbled upon the scene probably soon after the murder had occurred. But they couldn't prove anything, right? Unless they have a witness...

He tried to remember everything that had happened the previous night, each tiny detail. The scene recreated itself in his head, but it was blurry and had pieces missing. So many little things that he had failed to notice. Had there been cars passing? Or lights on in windows? Or drunken strangers staggering along the road with him? He didn't know. All he could see was the dead boy's startled face and the blood trickling down from his forehead.

Detective Keane stood up, some strange look in his eyes. Perhaps it was pity or concern, but the greaser figured the expression really could've been anything. Even anger. Although, he thought the man's face seemed too sad or reserved to be displaying any violent emotions.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

The voice was so gentle, Soda nearly recoiled. He hadn't expected such a swift change in the interrogator's tone. It took him almost too long to recover and, even when he was sure he was completely alright, he couldn't find the words to say. There were endless sentences he thought of, anything to just prove his innocence and put this matter to rest before it got any more complicated. The truth. He knew he had to tell the truth. That he was walking around late last night, remembering an intimate moment he'd had with his ex-girlfriend, when he'd tripped over the boy's body. He hadn't seen anyone else around and he got scared so he ran back home. That was all he knew. That was what he needed to tell Keane.

"No, sir... I don't..."

"Then thank you for your cooperation," he said, frowning like he knew something wasn't quite right. The frown was then replaced by a plastic smile and, when he continued speaking, his words were tight, full of tension. "I'm sure I'll be contacting you soon for an interview at the station. Behave yourself in the meantime." The detective strode out of the door, jumped into his unmarked squad car, and vanished down the road. Almost like he had never been there in the first place.


	6. Chapter 6

**Reviews:**

 **Iconic Star Child - Thanks! Glad you're enjoying this so far!**

 **Unknown identity 90 - Haha, indeed it is! :)**

The sun beamed down on Soda's shoulders and, this time, he was sure he would get burned. It seemed hotter than yesterday, to say the least. But, of course, scorching heat was just part of growing up in Oklahoma. He grabbed a washrag from a bucket of tepid water, swept it across his brow only once before he realized that it wasn't helping him. Then he threw it down again. He needed to go inside, take a break, get some water. Yet his boss had refused him this luxury.

Stay outside, he'd been ordered. Attract the girls and their fancy cars and try to put up with their relentless flirting when all he wanted to do was sit in the cooler interior of the station and refresh himself. It would only take a minute or two.

"You okay?" Steve appeared beside him, his face beaded with sweat and his DX shirt thrown carelessly onto the pavement.

Soda nodded, but found he didn't have the strength to give a vocal answer. All the things that had been happening lately had really worn him down, after all, and the fiery afternoon heat did little to improve his mood. In fact, he was pretty sure it made him feel worse. He groaned internally, crouched to pick up the rag he had thrown aside. There were no cars today - everybody seemed to be doing themselves a favor and staying indoors - but the boss told him that the whole station had to be spotless clean if no customers came. Couldn't have his workers getting paid for just standing around and talking.

"Here." He felt something cold get shoved into his hand and he looked down. A simple plastic cup of water, condensation already rolling down it's sides. Without bothering to ask his friend where it had come from, he took a sip. But the thirst was too much to be controlled and, before long, he gulped down the drink greedily.

"Take it easy, Soda," Steve said, laughing slightly. There was certainly a note of worry in his voice, though. Both greasers just pretended it didn't exist.

"Thanks..." he mumbled as he pulled the cup away from his lips. He didn't feel refreshed. Not even a little bit. But he found himself grateful for the friend he had in Steve. Sometimes, even the worst gambler got a really, really good card. The kind that almost made that terrible hand look slightly better, more manageable, like he could manage to win that entire game with that single card. Well, he had a couple of those - hell, he had three kings! Spades for Darry, hearts for Pony, and clubs for Steve. He liked the way that sounded.

"No problem," his best friend replied. He rested his hand on Soda's shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. They stood like that for a moment, a sort of silent communication passing between their eyes. Then a car horn sounded, shattered the calm. Steve cringed and let his arm drop back to his side. "Hey, can you take this one? I've gotta piss."

Soda sighed heavily, but nodded. "Yeah, go for it." Then, as his friend strode toward the entrance to the station, he turned to the bright red Stingray that had just pulled up. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he approached the driver side door. Socs and their gaudy cars...

As he stopped by the rolled down window, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. He'd recognize that pretty little head of ginger hair just about anyplace. Cherry Valance. Maybe he shouldn't have cared, but something about her being there made him want to work harder. That break was pretty much the last thing on his mind right then. He smiled with ease, let himself get a little closer to the car. From there, he could just faintly pick up the scent of her perfume - floral with a hint of spice, like a mixture of roses and cinnamon.

It smelled so good, he wanted to get even closer to her and bury his nose in her skin. Probably in the crook of her neck. He knew girls specifically applied their perfume there, so that's where he could get the strongest whiff of her sweet scent. The thought nearly made him back up; it was too much. But he was rooted to his spot, as if paralyzed.

Sandy never smelled like that. Her perfume meant to imitate the freshness of new rainfall, though it was cheap and did little to mask the heavy scent of cigarette smoke that clung to her hair and clothes. Yet, there had been a unique twist to her fragrance that he could've sworn he was addicted to. He didn't know how to describe it, aside from the word 'spicy', but that wasn't quite right...

"Um, hi..." Cherry said, breaking into Soda's thoughts. She shuffled through her purse and applied a quick coat of nude lipstick to her already very kissable mouth. He mentally scolded himself for that thought, though. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Ponyboy didn't tell ya I work here?" he asked.

"No, he did." Her fairly happy expression seemed to wilt at the mention of the youngest Curtis brother. "I guess I just forgot."

He nodded, more to himself than Cherry, then found his gaze sweeping over the body of her car. Which unfortunately reminded him of what she had come for. And it wasn't him, to just see him again and be sure that he was alright after their drive through soc territory. She was here because she had a problem with her vehicle. With a rumbling cough, he cleared his throat.

"So, uh, what can I do for ya?" he asked before he could lose focus again.

She gave him a barely perceptible smile, but didn't reply right away. There was tension in her knuckles; they strained white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly and it took aa few seconds for her to notice. Deliberately, she released her hold on the wheel.

Then her eyes ran up and down his body. Soda felt himself stiffen as he noticed her gaze on him. What was she thinking? Did she like what she saw? Heat rose to his cheeks and he breathed in more of her scent, trying to calm himself. Of course, the fragrance only managed to heighten his excitement. Cause he could see and smell her and the blazing temperature made the air heavy and he could scarcely breathe or even think straight.

"My car keeps making these rattling noises," she replied as her gaze finally rested on his face. The tone of her voice sounded strange, though. Well, different, actually. In a good way. A very, very good way. It seemed a bit husky, seductive even. "I think it might be the engine. Can you check under the hood for me?"

"Sure thing," he said, trying to ignore the sudden rush of heat that her voice must've caused. His thoughts began turning toward inappropriate topics again, but he reined them in before he could get lost in them. "Just pull your car into that garage over there and I'll take a look."

She did as he asked her to without hesitation and he followed on foot. Out of the corner ohf his eye, he saw Steve return from his bathroom break, but that detail flew out of his mind when the slightly cooler air of the garage brushed against his sweat-soaked skin. He hummed lowly, appreciatively. Then he forced himself to focus on the task ahead. Slowly, he walked around to the front of the car and popped open the hood. With trained eyes, he scanned over the engine, sometimes reaching in to test one of the parts with his fingers. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing wrong at all.

He faintly heard a car door open then close, but he wasn't sure if it was Cherry or another customer at the gas pump. Before he had to wonder for too long, the soc girl appeared beside him. The scent of her perfume overwhelmed him, made him dizzy with intense desire. He glanced in her direction, cleared his throat. But when he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out.

"Soda, you look a little hot," Cherry whispered, leaning close enough to him that her breath tickled his ear. "Maybe you should take that shirt off..."

The once refreshingly cool air became just as heavy as the blistering atmosphere outside and his heart rate increased - probably tripled if he'd been of the mind to count out the beats. His fingers glided down his chest, felt the heated fabric clinging to his body, then stopped as he reached the hem. Cherry watched him intently. He blushed, but removed his shirt anyway, tossing it to the side. His companion scanned over his muscular stomach, an unintentionally sexy smile on her lips. It was so wrong, but... His desire increased to an unbearable degree and it surprised him that his body wasn't showing the physical signs just yet. Of course, he didn't mean to sound like he was complaining.

"Isn't that better?" she asked. Her cheeks were flushed too, but she seemed to know just how to alleviate the overbearing heat. Eyes never leaving Soda's, she undid the top two buttons of her blouse, giving the greaser a better view of her chest.

He swallowed hard, fighting a losing battle for control.

And suddenly, it wasn't Cherry standing there. It was Sandy - the love of his life, the woman he had been sure that he was going to marry someday. He had almost let himself forget how much he missed her. With everything that had happened to him in the last few days, it seemed that now was the only time he had to remember. To be with his love again... He couldn't let that chance slip away from him.

His hands grabbed the girl's thin waist, pulling her against his chest. She offered up no resistance to his actions and he accepted that as permission to continue. The garage's heat increased as they pressed closer together. It was torture. The rising temperature. The need. Hot, hellish torture.

He intended to be slow, loving, kiss her delicately. But the moment their lips met, he seemed to forget that idea. His arms tightened around her as he kissed her harshly, bringing her body fully against his. Fingers laced into his hair, but he could still feel her one hand on his chest. It was almost like she was fighting herself, wanting to push him away yet, at the same time, needing him to kiss her harder, deeper. He tilted his head slightly more to one side to get better access to her mouth, to taste more of her. The heat hadn't been relieved by the outburst of passion. Honestly, neither had the desire. It was all aflame now, demanding more and more. As if it would never be satisfied.

The greaser broke the kiss, breathing heavily, the sound accompanied by the soc girl's panting. They had yet to release each other and Soda considered going back for another kiss. He craved that rush of emotions, the fuel that would stir the flame into an inferno. But he found he couldn't move. The green eyes that stared up at him didn't belong to Sandy. The girl in his arms, with her fingers in his hair and her other hand pressed against his bare chest, transformed back into Cherry Valance. Her eyes appeared dazed as she reached up to touch his cheek. It was like she was in a completely different world. Maybe he looked like that too.

She pulled his face back down to hers and connected their lips once more. He melted against her, let his desire and loneliness trick him back into his fantasy world where Sandy was still his girlfriend. What was wrong with him? A small piece of his mind remained aware and questioning, demanding to know why he allowed this to continue. It told him to stop, but he ignored it. Instead, he nibbled on the girl's bottom lip. She gasped into the kiss, opening her mouth just long enough for him to slip his tongue inside.

A soundless moan slipped from between her parted lips. But, in spite of her pleasure, guilt twanged throughout her being. She pulled away from the kiss, pressed her hands against Soda's chest to prevent him from pursuing more.

"I-I can't," she stuttered, worming her way out of his arms, breath still coming in ragged puffs. "I'm sorry..." She backed away from him, quickly fixed her smudged lipstick, then ran out of the garage.


	7. Chapter 7

**Reviews:**

 **Unknown identity 90 - Yep, he's just a mess of teenage boy hormones right now. xD**

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah... Of course I am..." Cherry replied, hugging her knees to her chest. She was sitting on her bed next to her best friend Marcia and this wasn't exactly what she had hoped to talk about when she'd thought of having a sleep over. The whole point of hanging out with someone at a time like this was to get her mind to think about anything aside from the feel of Soda's lips against hers. But, since the floodgate had been opened, she figured that there was no point in changing the subject until she was satisfied. "So what should I do?"

Marcia pursed her lips, thinking, before she finally shrugged. "Beats me," she said. "But I think you need to ask yourself what _you_ want. It hasn't been too long since... You know..." She looked towards the window and stared out over the darkened street. Then she turned back to the red haired girl. "If you want my opinion, I say you go for it. A guy as good looking as Soda? Hell, I'd dump Randy if I thought I had a chance with him."

"Weren't you gonna do that anyways?" Cherry asked as she raised an eyebrow at her grinning friend. Despite the humorously quizzical look, she felt a subtle worry nag at her nerves. Randy wasn't the best boyfriend, after all...

"True." Her companion smiled wider, probably pretending not to know what Cherry was thinking. "But the point is, I think something like this could be good for you."

Cherry nodded slowly, though she resisted the urge to tell her friend that she wasn't anywhere near ready to move on from Bob. Sure, he might've been just as bad as Randy sometimes. Yet she still loved him. How could she forget the first guy who'd ever taken a romantic interest in her? The man who had stood up for her when greaser girls had tried to spread vicious rumors about her. The man who bought her little gifts just because she'd popped into his mind without warning. She felt tears begin to sting her eyes as she thought more and more about the time she had spent with Bob. And as much as she wanted the flow of memories to stop, she just couldn't manage to put an end to them.

She threw herself down onto the bed, spreading out on her back. Then she turned to one side, curled up into a little human ball. A gentle hand rested upon her exposed arm as if it meant to reassure her, but she was determined to not be consoled so easily. Tears finally spilled over her lower lids, rolling down her cheeks and soaking into the fabric of her pillow.

"I miss him so much," she said, bringing her hands up to her face in order to wipe away the offending droplets. "It's too soon. I-I can't... I thought kissing him like that was gonna help, but it's just making everything worse..."

Marcia sighed softly and kept up the physical contact with the grieving girl. Maybe she didn't know what to say. Or maybe she knew that words on their own couldn't mend a broken heart. Either way, she closed her mouth tightly, lips firm and silent. They stayed like that for at least a minute before she decided to speak.

"I think you could use some ice cream..." she mumbled. She waited for Cherry's response, but when none came, she simply rolled off of the bed and crept down the stairs to fetch her friend some comfort food.

* * *

"Are you serious?" Steve locked the gas station's door behind him once he and his best friend closed the place up for the night.

"Yeah... After she brought her car into the garage," Soda said, leaning up on one of the pumps while he waited. The night had chased away the heat of the afternoon, yet the metal still felt warm against his skin. It was similar to the warmth he'd felt when Cherry's body was pressed into his - small and burning, like embers. He'd been desperate to feel such heat, the unbridled passion, ever since Sandy left him. But he tried not to think about that.

"In the garage?" His companion whistled lowly. "Pretty sexy. But it woulda been sexier if she woulda got it on with ya in the back of her car. Bet'cha she was thinkin' 'bout doin' it, at least." He laughed harshly, the sound grating on Soda's ears.

"Shut up," he said then hit Steve's shoulder, more playful than angry. "She's one o' them classy soc girls, remember? And... Well, I ain't real sure that I'm ready to see another girl just yet..."

"But, what if she offered to go down on ya? It'd be a shame if ya told her no..."

A bright red blush invaded his cheeks at the thought that his friend planted in his mind. He could imagine the scene perfectly. Cherry sinking to her knees, her big beautiful green eyes staring up at him as she undid the button of his jeans, pulled down the zipper which rasped metallically. She looked so innocent. Even as she opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around- He bit back a moan.

Then, of course, reality hit him like the shattered end of a broken beer bottle and a scorching wave of embarrassment rolled over him. Thinking about such things in the presence of his best friend... He scolded himself internally for the inappropriate daydream that Steve knew nothing about. The vision that would never come true. That was the truth and he just needed to accept it. But maybe he could, well he wasn't exactly sure what he could do, so he let that train of thought stop. Besides, he had to focus on walking home.

There might not have been any socs around, yet danger was prevalent at this hour of night. A rival gang could very well try something. Or maybe an adult would pick them up. Despite the feel of Steve walking alongside him, he felt a flutter of nervousness. He tried to tell himself that he was still shaken up by what had happened with the murdered boy, though he wasn't quite convinced. The fear of everything - especially those shadows that moved at the edges of his vision - became more intense and he found himself praying for his safety.

As the pair walked down the sidewalk in silence, an eerily familiar white car pulled up alongside of them. The window rolled down and, along with a thick puff of cigarette smoke, a head leaned out to get a better look at the greasers.

"You boys are out late," Detective Keane said, frowning deeply, a hint of suspicion flaring in his eyes. "What're you up to?"

"Ain't _that_ late..." Steve mumbled to himself. He had become visibly more tense once the cop showed up and he hunched over as if it was a valid form of protection. As if it didn't make him look shady as hell. Of course, that's exactly what it did, but Soda couldn't correct him for fear that that would call even more attention to Steve's behavior.

So he just settled for answering the question. "We finished up work at the DX a little bit ago. Now we're walkin' home." He paused, noticed the guy's raised eyebrow. "Is there somethin' I can do for ya, sir?"

"No, no," he said then sucked on the end of his cigarette. For a moment, he made no effort to continue talking, just sat there, swirling the smoke around in his mouth. Let it leak slowly through his lips. His mouth opened suddenly, all of the remaining smoke pouring out, and he picked up right where he'd left off. "No, I don't need anything. I suppose I'm just pleased to run in to you Mr. Curtis."

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow - even though he knew exactly what the cop meant. Keane pretended to take no notice of the exaggerated confusion and delivered one more statement before rolling up his window and roaring down the street, out of sight.

"I'll see you at the station tomorrow, boy. Nine in the morning or else I'll have to get you myself. Forcefully."

The words echoed in his ears long after the Bel Air had disappeared around the corner, long after he and a rather confused Steve parted ways. He slipped into bed with Pony, hoping in the back of his mind that he wouldn't disturb the poor kid. Feeling as if he'd been completely drained of energy, he sunk into the lumpy mattress and tried not to let his anxiety about the following day invade his dreams. Yet, despite his efforts, he couldn't help but wonder if he was in serious trouble this time...

 _ **AN - Hey guys! Thanks for reading and reviewing! I just want to let you know that, for me, school starts in two days and I won't be able to update as frequently as I'd like once it begins. I'm really sorry to keep you waiting, but I can't see a way around it. I hope you understand. Anyway, I also hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'd love it if you'd give it a review! Thanks again! :)**_


	8. Chapter 8

As he had been asked, Soda drove himself to the police station in the morning. Consumed by nervousness, he arrived half an hour too early and was left to his thoughts in the waiting area until Detective Keane was ready to interview him. He sat down on one of the hard wooden chairs, twisting his fingers absently. All he could think about was the reason for this forced visit. Surely, more evidence had been collected. More evidence that would exonerate him. Then he'd be able to return home and put this whole mess behind him. But in the back of his mind, he found doubt growing, festering. If the officers thought he had committed a crime, then they were going to prove it no matter what other evidence said.

He dropped his head into his hands as if he thought that he could hide from whatever the Keane had planned for him that morning. It would be unpleasant. That much was certain. He imagined the detective gloating about this victory, blowing cigarette smoke into his face. Did he dare resist? Whatever punishment they had decided upon would be lessened if he just went along with it. That's how the justice system worked. If he pleaded guilty, he could probably escape a lengthy prison sentence.

Then he thought of Darry. The disappointment, the deeply burning hatred. His older brother would never forgive him for murder. And Pony... He knew the poor boy wouldn't believe it at first. Maybe he never would. But surely, the young teen was gonna be sent away once Soda confessed to killing a child. No doubt. The social worker would obviously blame Darry for what had happened, even if he hadn't done anything. Well, none of them had done anything, really, but Soda wanted to say that he had. The investigation dragged along, tearing at his very soul, and he could not take much more. He just wanted everything to go back to the way it was before Detective Keane. Before Sandy left him.

Rogue tears sprung into his eyes at the thought of his lost love. Or maybe it was just the situation he found himself in. Waiting for the cops to tell him that his life was over, that he would never go home again... Fuck, maybe they'd even be merciful and give him the date of his execution months - or years - in advance. His spine slouched in the chair. He folded over himself in an attempt to hide his emotions from anyone else who happened to glance at him. Most of them were criminals, he guessed, and the last thing he wanted was to appear weak in front of a potential cell mate. Then again, curling into a little ball of self pity wasn't much better than outright crying.

With all the remaining strength he had, he forced himself to sit up straight and keep his emotions under control. The only person in the waiting area at that moment was an old woman, so he didn't much fear the consequences of small lapses in his stoic expression. There wasn't any chance that he would be locked up with her later on, even if she was a criminal. And not just a poor grandmother, picking up her delinquent grandkid.

There were two doors set into the back wall of the room. One led to the offices and interrogation spaces. The other, presumably, opened into the area for holding cells. Soda wondered how long it would be until he had to go through that door, the one that would keep him for as long as it took to get to trial. That in itself would most likely be a year of wasted time. And how much more would come after that once he was sentenced? He shook his head slightly, clearing the thought from his mind. Telling himself to focus, he leaned heavily against the straight back of his chair. He needed that discomfort to keep himself rooted in reality. He needed it to think about what to say.

Just as he began to calm down and settle into the monotony of thinking through defenses, there was a commotion at the front of the police station. Shouts of anger and the scuffing sound of hard soles on linoleum captured his attention and he found himself turning to see what was happening.

It shouldn't have surprised him when his gaze landed on a familiar face. Anger and hatred and steel blue eyes. Soda sighed inwardly as he watched his blond friend struggle against the cops that restrained him. Sometimes he wondered if Dallas Winston would ever learn his lesson. But for now, it was business as usual, the teen cussing out the officers and anyone who looked at him wrong.

Then he just stopped, his eyes locked on Sodapop as a grin twisted his lips upward. He let the officers pull him toward the door to the holding cells, but dig his heels into the floor when he neared his friend.

"Well, look who it is," he said, that eerie smile spreading wider across his face. He glanced toward the cops, one on each side of him. "This here's a friend of mine, boys. Ya'll best take good care of him. Else I swear there's gonna be hell to pay."

"Keep your mouth shut, Winston," the man on his left said.

The other man landed a solid kick at the teen's ankle. Dallas stumbled a bit then, when he recovered, promptly demonstrated his expansive vocabulary of swear words. And although he was noticeably pleased with his words, he allowed himself a slight limp as the men guided him towards the holding cells.

Soda cleared his throats and cast an apologetic glance in the direction of the elderly woman. She glared sharply in response then returned her full attention to the book she had been reading. The greaser didn't mind much. After all, he was pretty used to derogatory expressions - both verbal and silent. They were just a part of life for him and everyone else on the east side of the city. Maybe this woman was from out of town then, if she assumed she could bother him with such a look. The thought almost made him laugh, but he forced it down before the temptation could become too great.

By the time he regained complete control of his emotions, the door into the office complex swung open, revealing a long legged secretary. She smiled at him, lips tight, and gestured for him to follow her. He rose from his seat and trailed after the woman as she strode down corridor after corridor. Eventually, they reached the interrogation room. The secretary pulled the door open for him and he glanced at her before he found the strength to enter on his own.

"Mr. Curtis."

Soda stood just within the room when the heavy door slammed shut behind him. The space held only a table and two chairs and he instantly felt his heart race. Detective Keane sat in one chair with his hands folded on the tabletop. He waited for the man to invite him to sit, unwilling to take any action without the officer's permission.

"Take a seat," the man said after an extended moment of silence.

Soda did as he was told and quickly lowered himself into the chair across from Keane. He swallowed down the lump in his throat as his shaking hands tangled together in his lap. The detective watched him get situated then smiled emotionlessly.

"I'm glad I didn't have to get you this morning," he began. He pulled his chair closer to the table and sat up straighter, hands opening the Manila folder that lay in front of him. "Let's get right into it then cause I'm not really in the mood to fool around. Do you know why I asked you to come here?"

"I..." The greaser stopped his sentence and settled for a simple shake of his head. Of course he knew why he was here, but Keane didn't need to hear his suspicions.

"No need to be so somber, boy, you're not in trouble." Keane laughed but it sounded wrong in the closet-like closeness of the interview room. "In fact, I think you could be helpful. Cause you know what? Something tells me you know what happened the night this boy died." He set the picture of the victim on the table so that Soda could study the features, refresh his memory just in case he couldn't recall the face on his own. Which of course he did. It was a face that had haunted his dreams for the past few nights...

Soda bit down on his lower lip as he stared at the photograph. The dead eyes... He felt sick all over again. But he refused to let Keane see any of the tumultuous emotions that raged inside of him.

"Look, I know it's hard, but just think about it, would ya?" The detective huffed at the boy's silence and dug through his coat pocket. He brought forth a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Once his smoke was secured between his lips and lit, he slide the package across the table. "Take one. It'll calm your nerves."

"No thanks."

Keane frowned deeply then reached over to take the cigarettes away. "Suit yourself." His calloused fingers returned the pack to his inner pocket. "Down to business then."

The greaser ran a hand through his hair and avoided eye contact. In fact, he could almost convince himself that the tabletop was quite interesting. Dark brown in color, reddish undertones, shiny finish. He bet Darry would've appreciated the woodwork. His brother had always been attracted to handmade furniture, even in childhood. A smile nearly broke through his blank facade, but he caught it just before it could surface.

"I need you to be honest with me, boy. Cause you know damn well you don't want me to have to get somebody else to question you."

"I don't got anything to say," Soda replied, voice wavering ever so slightly.

"So you deny being at the scene of the crime?" Keane asked as he leaned forward. "Because that's real fascinating if you are. There's a witness that claimed to have seen you there, after all. Don't suppose he'd be lying, do ya?"

Soda refused to reply or even look up from the wood. He knew he was screwed. They had an eyewitness. They knew he had been at the scene. Nothing else mattered cause they had a solid case with just that singular piece of evidence.

Keane sighed, releasing a stream of smoke into the air between them. "Look, I'm tryin' to help you. I need you to cooperate, kid, cause they're all pushing for a conviction here. We don't have any other leads at the moment. Do you want to go to jail? That's what's gonna happen if we can't sort this out." He inhaled another mouthful of cigarette smoke then puffed it out in little bursts. "And if you go down for this, the real killer gets away."

The boy's head whipped up, making eye contact with the detective for the first time that meeting. "You... don't think I did it?"

"I wouldn't say that. Not exactly," he said. "I'm reasonably suspicious of everyone. But I want to hear your side of the story. Give me something to work with."

"O-okay."

Soda glanced around at the empty walls then launched into his version of what happened on the night of the murder. He tried not to leave anything out, aside from his distracting thoughts of Sandy, of course. In any case, it really wasn't relevant as long as Keane knew he hadn't been fully aware of his surroundings. He showed the man his scraped up hands and allowed the investigators to take fingerprint, blood, and hair samples from him.

At the end of it all, he slumped back into his chair in the waiting room while Keane phoned Darry to inform him about what had been going on. If there was any point during the interrogation when he felt utterly hopeless, this moment was ten times worse. His older brother wouldn't go easy on him for getting into this kind of trouble.

"Alright," the detective said as he approached the crestfallen greaser, "you're free to go if you feel good enough to drive. Your brother said he can come get you if you aren't."

"I'm fine." Soda stood up and edged toward the door, head hung with both fatigue and shame. The encounter left him feeling weak and disoriented and all he wanted right then was to go home and curl up in bed with Ponyboy.

"We'll contact you if we need anything more." Keane's words followed him out of the police station, staying with him the entire ride.


	9. Chapter 9

"You wanna explain to me exactly what's been goin' on?"

Soda walked around the front of his truck, avoiding Darry's gaze. He tucked the keys into his jeans pocket as he shuffled by his older brother. Inside. The conversation had to happen away from those who would misunderstand. But Darry, determined to have his answers immediately, took hold of Soda's wrist.

"Now, Sodapop," he demanded. "I had to miss work for this and I'll be damned if you don't tell me why the cops've been so eager to hang around with ya."

"Can we... Not here... Please... Well, I..." The words tumbled around in his head, confusing his mouth. He was gonna be honest. He knew that much, but... Well, the more he thought about it, even that was uncertain. If he lied, he could make it easier on everyone. His brothers, the gang. Only he would suffer. He could handle that at least...

Darry raised an eyebrow, his facial features appearing more angered than curious. Maybe he would yell or lash out. Never walk away, though. That just wasn't his style. He breathed in a few deep breaths then gestured to the doorstep. When his brother didn't move, he sat on the concrete slab himself and patted the open space with his hand. Soda took a step forward, hesitated, looked around, took another step. By the time he hunkered down beside his brother, Darry was struggling to maintain his patience. But he smiled, anyway. Not the tight-lipped expression Soda was used to; this one was softer, genuine. Kinda like how it was before everything fell apart.

"I'm sorry," Soda murmured when he recognized signs of his brother's good nature fading. "I shoulda told ya sooner."

He paused, assessing the situation. For the most part, Darry's face was blank. But that only made it harder to speak. Predicting his thoughts, his reactions... The endless possibilities of how he could disappoint the one person he really wanted to impress... It all had him trembling. What other choice could he make? How could he follow through with a faithful retelling when it meant losing the product of his childhood efforts? Either way he spun it, he imagined all trust would go up in flames.

His hands gripped his knees to stop the shaking. A warm breeze drifted by him, rustled against his hair. He gulped. It felt distant, as if he was trapped deep in his own consciousness, forced to watch life pass him by.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he turned to meet Darry's expectant gaze. "I..." This was it then. Whatever he had decided, he wouldn't be able to go back. Truth or more lies and that would be the end of it. He knew Darry wouldn't settle for half a story or the wimpy excuse of it being better if he didn't know anything. He had no choice.

"I did it."

His brother said nothing. No questions, no yelling. He figured the young man was stunned, and rightfully so. Without the hesitation that had plagued him earlier, he continued his story.

"Couple nights ago, I got Sandy in my head again," he admitted. "Didn't know what else to do. So I went for a walk. I ended up meeting this kid by the park and he could tell that I wasn't... Well, he just knew I needed to get outta my head. He gave me... some stuff... And then the next thing I know, the kid was dead."

Darry's eyes widened and his back went rigid. "What stuff? What did you take?" He ran a hand through his hair, huffing out an aggravated sigh. "Dammit, Sodapop, you know better than that... God dammit... What the hell did you take?"

"Cocaine... I snorted cocaine." He hung his head, feeling tears sting his eyes. Why was he doing this to himself? It was too late to stop, though, so he just stayed with it. "He gave me coke and I took it, then he died. But I don't remember anything in between."

"Give me your keys." Darry said nothing else, just waited until Soda had dropped the requested ring onto his upturned palm. He closed his fingers around the car keys then stood up. There was tension in his shoulders and arms. Soda could see the muscles tighten, twitching minimally. Darry glared down at his younger brother. When he spoke again, his voice raised to a strained shout. "What're you lookin' at? Just... Go to your room."

Soda got to his feet, eyes never leaving Darry's body. His heart beat like crazy as he passed through the doorway. Part of him just wanted to run away. He knew his brother was pissed, and that his punishment was gonna be worse than having his car taken away and being thrown in to his room. But what could he do to avoid it? He'd truly brought this hell upon himself. It was his own damn fault, as usual.

When he entered the house, Pony looked up at him, eyes round with concern. He turned away pointedly. Then he hurried down the hall to his bedroom. The door closed behind him with a gentle click and he retreated to the safety of the blankets to catch his breath. His heart pounded hard but seemed to be calming down. Until he heard the house's front door slam shut. That sent him spiraling into a fit of panic. He curled up beneath the sheets, hugging his knees to his chest and squeezing his eyes closed.

"Dare? What's goin' on?" Pony's voice was muffled by the walls between them.

"Don't worry bout it," Darry snapped.

"S-sorry..."

He twisted himself into a tighter ball and tried to protect his ears from the noises outside his room. It was his fault. He'd screwed everything up. And he couldn't even recall what had possessed him to lie. Why had he thought it would help? Darry was gonna tell the authorities what he'd heard. Then there'd be a whole investigation into the guardian who had somehow allowed his brother to get mixed up with drugs. But it was all a lie... Could they really take Pony away if the drug use was just pretend?

Only a story... Not real... The words echoed in his mind again and again, bringing to light other problems. There was no proof that he'd snorted coke on the night the boy died. There was no character testimony that could verify that Soda would even be tempted by drugs. He'd never done anything illegal before, for God's sake!

That same warm breeze blew against his hair. He raised his head and glanced around. When his eyes settled on the open window above his little brother's desk, he knew exactly what he had to do.

The only problem was... Well, he didn't exactly know how to do what he needed to. Growing up on the wrong side of the city, he should've had some idea. But he didn't. And he was still afraid. Afraid that he wasn't helping, that his plan would get Darry and Pony into even more trouble.

He threw off the blankets then approached the window. The drop was only a few feet. He could do it, no doubt about that. Hands shaking, he locked the door. His mind screamed that he was making a mistake, but he ignored it as best as he could. He returned to the window and, using the desk chair as a boost, launched himself back into the outdoors.

 _ **AN - Well, I'm just gonna keep apologizing for my nonexistent update schedule. I'm really, really sorry. Unfortunately, I think that's just how it has to be due to my complete lack of motivation and overload of school work. To those of you who stuck with me from the beginning, thank you for having faith in me. I'm trying the best I can... Anyway, I hope you all will leave me a review for this chapter. That's the best way to keep me writing. Do you guys have any guesses about what Soda's up to? Please let me know what you think and I'll see you next chapter!**_


	10. Chapter 10

Dallas raised an eyebrow at the boy sitting across from him. "I'm gonna say this as lightly as I can, kiddo. That's fucking stupid."

Soda leaned back in his chair, spine tempted to slump in defeat. He had hoped Dallas Winston of all people would understand and be able to help him. His hand closed around the beer bottle in front of him and he froze there for a moment as he considered his next move. Taking a quick swig of liquid courage, he steeled himself for a confrontation. You didn't try to push Dally into doing anything he didn't want to do, but Soda had no other choice.

"Look, Dal, I really need this favor," he said. "I don't know how else to… I can't go on if I don't get it."

His friend frowned and those steely eyes grew distant, as if a fog had rolled into his irises. Soda studied the expression intently. Perhaps if he watched close enough, he would glimpse some sign of the decision before it was vocalized. But Dally's face remained stoic, a canvas untouched by a painter's inspiration.

"It isn't smart, you know."

"Yeah…" Soda's gaze dropped to the mismatched wooden table.

"And I don't usually say this, but you've gotta tell the truth," Dally said as he picked some dirt out from underneath his fingernails. The beer closest to him remained untouched, condensation running down the bottle's amber sides. "It doesn't make sense to take the fall for someone else."

The middle Curtis groaned. "I don't need you preaching at me, Dallas. Can you get me cocaine or not? I'm sure one of the Shepards will find me some if you won't."

Dally's fists clenched and his lips pressed into a thin line. The blond glared at his friend for what seemed like an eternity before he allowed himself to give in to Soda's pressuring. He thrust his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. As if by magic, he produced a small baggie filled with a fine white powder and slammed it down between them.

Soda's eyes widened in spite of his efforts to be emotionless. He had never actually seen coke before, especially not in such a large amount. The back of his mind demanded to know how Dally had even managed to afford all of it. Or who had given it to him in the first place. Or, worse yet, was he a regular user? He looked at anything other than the drug in front of him. Of course, his aversion to the very object he had asked for was noted. Dally snorted.

"Don't ask for it if you can't handle it."

He glared at the blond across from him and grabbed the plastic bag. If Dallas thought that he was weak, he knew he had to prove himself.

Dally lunged across the table, taking hold of Soda's wrist before he could tear open the baggie. His ice blue eyes flashed with an emotion akin to rage. Perhaps it was a mixture of anger and something else. Soda couldn't quite place it, shocked as he was by the sudden contact. The cocaine slipped from his grasp, landed on the tabletop without a sound. Dally released him then settled back into the chair. He turned away. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its threatening edge.

"That shit's expensive," he said. He stood, knocking the chair over backwards with the movement. "Whatever. Get hooked. Overdose. It ain't my problem." He took a few steps toward the bar's exit but paused just close enough to still be heard. "You're a fucking idiot, Curtis…"

Soda tucked the baggie into his jeans pocket, pretending he hadn't heard the way Dally's voice had changed. It was too much. Too close to a truth that had been concealed from him, from everyone. It was so much easier to ignore it and move on. He pushed his empty beer bottle aside in favor of Dally's unopened one. Sure, he already had a pretty good buzz going on, but a part of him knew that he would never have another one after this. He was going to prison. Or maybe he'd die before that. And even after everything – if he made it out okay – Darry would never let him have fun again.

So maybe that's how he found himself much more drunk than he'd planned on being. He stumbled out of the bar around… well he hadn't checked the time when he left and he figured it was too late for that now. At the rate he was going, he felt like he was halfway through soc territory by then. It must've been hours of walking. His feet gave up on him after another step and he slouched against the nearest building.

The world spun around him. Street lights whirring in and out of focus and phantom calls of his name shattering the otherwise quiet air. He closed his eyes against the sensations. In the morning, he'd regret what he was about to do, but his hazy mind could not process that. It only registered the current moment. The desires that stirred his body. The heaviness of the night as it forced his body down into the concrete side walk below him. The weight of the plastic bag in his pocket. He remembered the drug with a jolt and he felt the fog retreat from his brain for a moment. If he was going to do something, he'd have to do it now. Before he was caught. Before he could convince himself to stop.

He opened the baggie.

 **A/N: I know it sucks. I'm really out of practice and I'm struggling to get back in to writing. Please bear with me**


	11. Chapter 11

He stared down into the open bag, watching as the white sand-like substance shifted within. His finger edged closer. Just as he was about to make contact with the drug, the distant wail of a police siren jolted him almost fully out of his drunken trance. What was he doing? Drugs would only make the situation worse, especially since he hadn't actually done anything illegal at that point.

The siren sound grew closer and his lungs constricted. Heart racing, he tucked the bag into his pocket. He had no other option. No alley, no dumpster to toss it in. No loose stone in the sidewalk to hide it under. God, he was going to jail. There was no question about it. That cop was gonna pick him up and nail him for being drunk and having drugs in his possession. And then Darry would have to handle another investigation. Even more pressure from the social workers too. He lowered his head, hid his face in his hands. All his fault…

It was no wonder that Sandy had left him. He just couldn't plan ahead. He didn't think. Darry always scolded Pony for having his head in his ass, but maybe he should've put more pressure on Soda. If he had just been prepared, then she wouldn't have gotten pregnant. Her family wouldn't have taken her away from him. Tears welled up in his eyes and he choked them down until the blaring police car passed him by. The siren faded into the night but the silence was broken soon after by his soft sobs.

Did he always have to ruin everything? Sandy's life, Pony's, Darry's, his parents'… He pressed his hand against his mouth, trying to force everything back down, but it refused to be suppressed. Unstable from both too much to drink and the overflow of emotions, he pushed himself away from the wall. The walk home was short enough but he figured he'd take the long way around. He needed time to settle down. Darry would be so pissed when he found out about what he had done. Sure as hell he wasn't prepared to face that. For once, he decided to make a conscious effort to steel himself far in advance. Maybe it'd make up for the times he'd failed to do so before.

The first dumpster he passed became the new home for the cocaine he had begged Dally for. He just couldn't stand to look at it. Even setting his gaze upon it for the few seconds it took to throw the bag away filled him with shame. He'd known from the start that perpetuating the lie wouldn't help. All he wanted was an escape.

When he made it home, the lights were still on – a sight he was becoming too used to seeing recently. He stumbled up to the front door. There was no point in trying to sneak back in through his bedroom window. Darry knew he was gone. He'd been out of his room for hours. The door was open as usual and, the moment he stepped into the room, his older brother engulfed him in the tightest hug he'd ever received. Defeated, he pressed his face into the thick chest directly in front of him, allowing his tears to soak into Darry's shirt.

"Why did you leave?" he whispered as he rubbed his distressed brother's back. "Shit, Soda… We were all worried sick." He paused, just breathing for a few moments. "You've been drinking."

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" He couldn't think of anything else to say.

All the excuses that came to mind seemed weak, paper thin. And surely, his brother deserved better than that. This man had had to skip work that day for him. This man had called all their friends, then sat helplessly in his armchair once those avenues of investigation proved fruitless. This man had fought back the urge to call the police, knowing his brothers could be taken away for something like this. He'd faced the stomach wrenching worry alone.

"Just… tell me what's going on. Let me help you," Darry said.

"I- Darry, I'm so tired," Soda said, voice feeble and almost drowned out by the soft ramblings from the tv. "I want to sleep. In the morning… I'll tell you everything. Please. I just want to sleep. I can't lie anymore. I… I promise. Just let me-" Another sob interrupted his pleas. He hugged his brother with shaking arms, fingers clinging to the fabric of Darry's shirt, scratching against his back.

"It's alright. Whenever you're ready," he responded. As his younger brother cried, he tried his best to soothe him. Emotional support wasn't really his strong point, but he knew better than to distance himself in this situation. He knew, as if by instinct, what Soda needed. And no amount of awkwardness and contempt between the two of them would prevent him from taking care of the boy. "Let's get you cleaned up for bed. You hungry?"

Soda had to be pried slowly off his brother's body. The last thing he wanted was to lose the physical contact. The reassurance. The safety. He kept his hold on Darry's back tight for as long as he could manage, but it had to end. The moment it did, the floor fell out from beneath him and he was falling through empty space. His stomach lurched.

But then Darry grabbed his hand. He was back in the living room. Safe. His brother guided him to the bathroom and set him down on the side of the bathtub. The rest was a blur to him. Distant feelings of towels and water against his face, a minty taste in his mouth, motions that were so familiar yet unrecognizable in his state of mind. Within seconds, it all came to an end.

"Pony's sleeping already," Darry said, helping his brother walk down the hall. "You should spend tonight in my room, so you don't disturb him. I'll take the couch."

Soda didn't have the strength to argue. He just allowed Darry to pull him into a bedroom he'd almost never set foot in. The older Curtis picked him up with ease then set him down on the bed, tucking him under blankets that still carried the faint scent of laundry detergent. Darry stepped back from the mattress but Soda grabbed his wrist. It must have been with the remainder of his strength, though, cause the grip left behind deep crescent shaped indents.

"Stay with me."

"Alright, kiddo," he said, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He climbed into the bed and held the boy in his arms until they both fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

When Soda opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the pounding in his head. It was to be expected, of course. He'd had way too much to drink the night before. Blinking fiercely, he forced himself into a sitting position. Darry's room. His eyebrows knit together and he looked around a few times just to be sure that his eyes had not decided to play tricks on him. He swung his feet over the side of the bed with a sigh. Today was the day. No more lies.

The wood beneath the ratty carpet creaked as he put his full weight on it. He cringed at the noise but continued toward the kitchen. Darry would be there, waiting, as always. Except he wasn't. The kitchen table was empty, save for a folded-up piece of paper labelled with Soda's name. He grabbed the note then read it over. Nothing too long; his brother wasn't one for words. Just a quick explanation.

 _Being questioned downtown. Hold tight._

 _-Darry_

Soda crumpled the note into a ball, crushing it in frustration. He threw it in the wastebasket. How inconvenient that the cops would bring Darry in just before he learned the truth. What would he tell them? If he relayed what he supposedly knew to be true, then Soda knew his life would be over. But he had to have more faith than that. His brother, though honest to a fault, would not risk losing him and Pony over something he knew he didn't fully understand.

He stepped into the living room and threw himself on to the couch. It was a rare day off for him. And frankly, he couldn't imagine a better break than one spent at home, taking care of himself. Tv, lots of water, and a home cooked meal. That would be perfect. Anything to relax after what had been happening recently.

It was mid-afternoon by the time he'd removed himself from the couch. School for Pony had ended around an hour ago and, though a bit concerned deep down, Soda knew his little brother was perfectly safe. Probably hanging around with Johnny. His older brother's absence, on the other hand, caused him mild distress. How long would he be speaking with the cops?

Before he could get too caught up in imagining the worst possible scenario, someone knocked on the front door. His heart thudded as he rose from the couch. What if it was Detective Keane? What if he was finally being placed under arrest? He approached the door as if it were a poisonous snake then yanked it open. Outside, Cherry Valance stood, turned slightly toward the road with one leg left behind the other. She appeared very much like she was in the process of changing her mind and escaping. But she noticed Soda and her posture changed.

She set her feet in line with her shoulders and clenched her fists. Only for a moment. Then she relaxed, settled into a carefree smile. As if she were unburdened. And Soda hated her for that.

"Hey," she said. "I just came by to apologize for what happened at the DX the other day. It was hot and we weren't thinking and we made a mistake."

The resentment he felt mere seconds before faded at the thought of the passionate kiss the pair had shared. Yet its heat had not left him. It burned fiercer, desire its fuel. He wondered if it was alright for him to even think of Cherry in such a way. Maybe socs had developed a way to read minds and just the idea would be enough to earn him a beating from one of the girl's other admirers.

But what did he care? For all he knew, he would soon be locked up in a cell downtown. Then any hope of living a normal life would be gone. Good women didn't date criminals. They would never consider him as more than a plaything. He was too pretty to let slip away, of course, but they wouldn't commit. The thought was liberating in a way. He didn't have to worry about consequence and couldn't stand the regret of not at least trying to pursue a girl as beautiful as Cherry Valance.

"Soda?" Cherry laughed a bit, the sound quiet and nervous.

"Oh uh… Sorry. I got to thinkin', ya know?" he said.

"I understand," she replied. "I didn't mean to drop that on you so suddenly. But it took me a lot of courage to come here on my own and I wasn't going to let it be for nothing. So, what do you say?"

He couldn't remember if she'd asked him a question or not. It didn't matter, anyway. He'd ask his own question, voice his own separate thoughts. And maybe that would be good enough for her. Even if he wasn't. He sighed then just said what was on his mind like it wasn't one of the hardest things he'd done in a while.

"Cherry, I wanna go out with you." He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets for comfort. "I don't care what people'll say. This whole feud is stupid and I just wanna be done with the fightin'. Give me a chance. Just one date then I won't bother you no more."

Wide green eyes stared at him, bewildered yet calculating. Perhaps she was adding up all the risks. Or thinking her way through an eloquent rejection speech. She licked her lips unconsciously and fiddled with a strand of her crimson hair. Soda bit his tongue. Knowing for sure that she had no interest was better than living the rest of his life wondering what might've happened. Yet he still felt anxious trembles and nausea. He wasn't prepared for her answer.

"Yes."

"Wha… Yes? You… really yes?"

She giggled, a hint of a blush giving color to her normally pale face. "Yes."

"That… That's great. Glory, I thought you were gonna… We need to…" So many thoughts rushed through his head, he couldn't decide what should leave his mouth first. It all came out in rambling, mismatched sentence fragments that made no sense.

Cherry placed a hand on his arm to stop him. "Why don't you stop by my place at 6pm tomorrow? You shouldn't get much trouble at that hour and my parents won't notice. You remember where it is?"

Soda could only nod.

 **AN: Hey guys, I'm sorry I stopped updating forever ago. My life has been so hectic lately with college and struggling with mental health and writer's block. I'm much better now and hope to continue these stories so I can practice my writing. Please comment! Hearing back from my readers gives me the motivation to continue updating. I will try to be more consistent in the future but I can't promise anything. Homework and my social life keep me really busy. Anyway, thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

It took Darry a few more hours to return home from the police department. His truck rattled into the driveway as Soda watched from the window. The sun, by then, had sunk to just above the horizon. When Darry stepped onto the still steaming asphalt, the sunset cast him in blazing red and orange hues. He strode up to the door. Soda could feel anxiety bubbling in his stomach. What had his brother told the officers? Did he mention the confession? And if he had… then was this the end?

The door creaked on its hinges. Soda stood up from the couch and met the eldest Curtis in the entrance way. He looked worn down, eyes darkened by the shadows beneath them. Perhaps he hadn't slept well the night before. Perhaps the interrogation was ruthless. A pang of guilt knocked on Soda's heart. This was all his fault.

"What did you tell them?" Soda asked, hands balling into fists, fingernails pressed tightly against the skin of his palms. The aggression in his voice was unintentional, but Darry did not react to it anyway.

His older brother stared at him. He had the expression of a man who lived the same tragedy again and again. But they all looked like that. Didn't they? After their parents died… This look wasn't as severe as that. It was deep and sad but not horrified. Surely it meant that Darry had told the cops everything he'd heard. Even though it was all a lie. It served Soda right. He should have been truthful when he had the chance. He hadn't needed to play games and try to manipulate the law and everyone around him.

"Nothing they didn't already know," Darry said at last. He pushed by Soda then grabbed a beer from the fridge. "I couldn't bring myself to let them know you'd confessed to me. Not when I haven't heard the full truth from you." With a sigh, he lowered himself into his armchair. "Get talking, kiddo."

Soda returned to his spot on the couch, almost directly across from Darry. How did he react to that? His brother – the most honest, law-abiding man he'd ever met – had lied to the police for him. Tears burned in his eyes but he held them back. They would do him no good now. It wasn't the time for them. A time when he should be on the verge of celebration. He was almost free. He could take back control.

"Thank you."

"I wasn't gonna let 'em pick you up for nothin'." Darry shrugged as if the decision hadn't clashed with his morals. As if it hadn't torn him apart to be so dishonest for someone he was losing faith in. "Now tell me the truth."

"I did. Partially," Soda said, looking down at his hands. "Sandy was in my head again so I went out for a walk to clear it. Kinda got more distracted by her though… Then I tripped over this kid's body by the park. I turned him over and saw he was dead so I ran. That's it."

"You weren't on drugs?"

"No, of course not. I would never," he said. His lips twitched into a fragile smile. "For the most part, I like my mind where it is. Don't need to screw with it."

Darry sipped his beer. He'd leaned back in his chair when Soda denied using drugs. Surely, he recognized that the situation wasn't as bad as it had seemed before. They could relax for now and just let the investigation take its course. If the murder weapon could be found, then there would be evidence pointing to someone else. The true killer. Somewhere in Tulsa, the murderer of a young child was prowling, awaiting the opportunity to kill again.

"Thanks for tellin' me," he said. "You should lay low for a while, though."

"What? But Darry, I have a… job." Soda stopped himself from saying 'date'. He didn't need his brother trying to pry into his love life as well. "I need to work so we can keep living. Just because they're tryin' to pin another greaser with a murder they didn't commit, doesn't mean life's gonna wait around. We still have bills to pay and groceries to get. I can't stop working."

"I know. I just meant that you should stick to goin' to work and back here," he replied as he finished his beer. He walked it to the kitchen and set it on the counter. "Also, steer clear of the crime scene from now on."

Soda had no intention of going back there ever again. It made his stomach churn, thinking of the bloodied sidewalk and the boy's empty eyes. But he would not stay home. This trial would not defeat him. He was determined to keep living a normal life and that included going on a date with Cherry Valance tomorrow. Nothing would keep him away from her after so many obstacles had kept them apart. He almost grinned as he imagined how their budding relationship would grow from this point on. Such an expression would have confused Darry so he kept it to himself. But he couldn't stop the fluttering sensation in his chest. It had been a long time since he'd felt the stirring caused by a new romance.

Darry started cooking dinner with the remaining food in the fridge. For a moment, it felt like everything was back to the way it was. They were just the family they'd always been. He closed his eyes. Behind his lids, he visualized the old days. Their mother fretting over the finishing touches of the meal as Darry set the table for her. Any one of the brothers would have done anything to get those evenings back. They just wanted the family to be whole again. But for Soda, perhaps finding his own family to create new memories with would be good enough.

He opened his eyes when Darry called to him, "Hey, Soda, set the table, will ya?"

 **A/N: Thank you to all those who have been waiting so patiently for this chapter. I'm so sorry for not updating in such a long time. Please remember to review to keep me motivated and to remind me why I'm writing in the first place. Thanks!**


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